The Devilish Poetry of Unspoken Words

French to you, amigo. No matter what language you speak, it’s all the same jargon, lost in translation. The meanings are rearranged, redefined definitions with different meanings, and the root word. It’s a jumbled crap shoot. Only words convey meaning beyond definition, and accents change. It’s all Greek to me, or pig Latin to somebody else. Some people can’t understand Appalachian hillbilly speak, while others will never comprehend big colloquial phrases and legalese language like lawyers’ double talk. In the beginning was the word. Before words made the scene, clay tablets spelled it out in cuneiform. Those cryptic hieroglyphs tell us plenty of nonsense. They made it up as they went along. Everything is steeped in ancient history; if you live long enough, you’ll eventually witness it. Prehistoric cave paintings spell it out in images; no words are necessary. Jive talking, Polaroid snapshots of someone’s reality.

Maybe you had the eureka moment of clarity and focus for a bright second. That Aha! feeling of being understood and, at the same time, a good idea of understanding the situation and how it relates to you. It’s like the chicken and the egg. In good or bad faith, I can’t say either way because it’s not easy to figure out; in fact, it’ll drive you crazy. Which one was first? Sanity or madness? If you think about it too often, you’ll only get more confused, like chicken eggs.

Please don’t get too comfortable under the tautological skin of loose language. The words come easily with the mouth flapping and the tongue wagging—happy, sad tales of woe and joy. Vowels rise from the bowels as consonants creep through the cranium. A vocabulary of madness in any insane world, a circular phrasing any way you spell it out or say it out loud. No matter how the inflection of speech sounds, it's a virus of words infecting the frontal lobe cortex. An immoral code of unethical conduct results in bad behavior. The evil poetry of word power.

Words are an important way to convey ideas, but the basic meanings differ from one foreign language to the next alien native tongue. You may be speaking in tongues. Possibly unrecognizable to others, a strange few may understand your gibberish. Perhaps you speak prolifically in many languages and gob speak. Don’t spray it; say it. Nobody knows what the hell you’re talking about. They don’t sabe your lingo. They don’t get it. Twice removed from the original truth in the natural order of things, only the narrative changes, not the narrator.

Amazing feats of oratory soapbox soliloquies played out in letters, numbers, and symbolic texts that query questions never answered. Just outside of reach, beyond comprehension. In a wordless world, the voice has no place to express itself. In a sing-song, the nursery rhyme of rhythm and harmony is combined with the natural worldly pleasures of music and the poetry of urgency. It flows through a river of rhyme. You must comprehend communication between the speaker and the audience; listen to the common conversation in language; it has no relation to what was spoken. People hear what they want and read what they like to say. Listen closely. You can almost hear my thoughts along the stream of written words. All the unread books are still written forever and never read. Lining the shelves and piling them high on the floors, tables, and steps. Any flat surface that occupies space. More books are added daily to keep the voracious reader occupied. Guess what happens next? Wherever words are uttered, there’s always a bit of truth missing from this or that proclamation.

It’s stupid to believe that the ultimate truth is the goal for any man who tells lies to himself and those who only follow. But they eat it up and come back for more. Others claim a higher power or something equally holy speaks directly to them. Others may hear weird voices in their heads. Whispering commands, telling them to commit unspeakable crimes. It’s a poetic injustice for demons to use poor souls to do their bidding because they’re cowards. It makes them look like simpletons when they get caught up in their own lies. The first word they use is fake, and all the other words align like stars in the firmament after the fact to make a statement about nothing in particular. From the last word to the lost words floating around in the soupy ozone of falsehoods. A universal language based on true lies, spoken by imbeciles.

Religions give illusions and half-truths. Some call them little fibs or white lies. There’s insidious poetry in the world that says facts don’t matter. They don’t exist in the netherworld of everything evil. Tyrants are born innocent. Somewhere along the line, they confuse themselves with the devilish realities that exist in their mediocre imaginations. Fevered dreams of dark fantasies were born from pickled brains. It’s a Shanghai of alternative words that hold sway. It’s the unspoken words that make the most noise.